Priceless: Contemporary Billionaire Romance Novel (9 page)

Chapter Eight

Miles
boarded the elevator, pressed the call buttons, and relaxed as the cab whirled
upwards to his penthouse condominium.  He rested his shoulders and head against
the elevator’s gold-toned interior and clenched the shopping bag in his hand. 
With his eyes closed, still able to taste the flavor of sugar and salt from her
skin, Miles reflected on their morning together, and the night before.  In past
years, he had been obligated to spend Valentine’s Day with the woman who he was
sleeping with at the time.  This year, he had planned to spend it alone—that
is, until he decided to pursue Maribel.  Now, he didn’t want their time
together to stop.  Unexpectedly, it had been the perfect weekend—the kind that rejuvenated
the possibility of enjoying something deeper in his life beyond just wealth and
work.  He had drunk hot chocolate; sung in the shower; slept on rosebud sheets;
and awoken next to a woman who had wanted nothing from him, except for him to
stop buying her luxury gifts.  And now, as he tasted her in his mouth, he
already missed her caring brown eyes and tender touch, and the sense of
companionship she engendered made him want to share every moment with her.  It
had been a long time since he remembered ever feeling this way about a woman—and
certainly, it had been an even longer time since he felt determined to commit
to it.

The
final floor chimed.  The mirrored elevator doors shimmered open.  Miles stepped
out, not into a hallway or a private lobby, but directly into his penthouse
suite.  Miles snapped his fingers twice.  Suddenly, the lights switched on,
illuminating the spacious luxurious condominium—and his unexpected guest. 

“Gillian,”
Miles said her name without surprise.  He
should
have felt surprise to
see her there, lounging in his favorite Mies van der Rohe Barcelona chair and sipping
wine from a glass—no doubt from one of his rare vintage bottles that she had
opened without his permission. But with Gillian, he had long since learned that
she had no sense of boundaries and nothing was beyond her. 
At least she had
her clothes on
, he thought, and tossed his car keys across the quartz
countertop of the grand kitchen island that separated him from her. 

He
leaned against the island and stared at her with confrontation.

“Hope
you don’t consider it an intrusion,” Gillian said, smoothly.

“To
enter a home without an invitation?”

“Oh,
come on, now, Brax… we’ve never been
that
formal with each other and you
know it.  In fact, some of our best days were when we were a lot more
spontaneous with each other.”

Gillian
stood up from the chair.  She was wearing a tight red dress and a black mink
shawl coat. “In fact, I’m fairly certain that one of our best negotiations was
done while I was wearing nothing more than this mink coat.”

Miles
didn’t need the reminder.  He remembered buying it for her, and she modeling it
for him as well as the business transaction that followed. 
A series of
business transactions
, Miles thought,
that’s all his life had amounted
to
,
and that’s all that Gillian expected from him now
.

Miles
felt the urge to put her in her place, and cut to the chase.  But that’s what
the ‘old Miles’ would do.  The ‘new Miles’—the relaxed, amorous Miles from this
weekend—was less interested in combat and more disciplined about avoiding it. 
Instead, he simply crossed his arms and peered at her—waiting.

Gillian
circled towards him and offered him a glass of wine.  “It’s one of your
favorites:
Château Lafite
Pauillac 1990.”

“Are
we here to enjoy wine together, or do you want something specific?”

Gillian
threw back her head with laughter.  Miles noticed her red lips, her bleached
teeth, and her short blonde hair, freshly cut and styled.  Then, he noticed how
the veins in her neck bulged through her pale skin and how her overpowering perfume
poorly masked the staining scent of cigarettes.

“Brax,
I really don’t understand why you seem so determined to make this difficult on
both of us.  We want the same thing,” her fake red nails clicked against the
quartz island before gliding their way over his shoulder and behind the nape of
his neck.  He stared at her with stone eyes; she was close enough now where he
could see the pale green glints in her muddy eyes and smell her breath.  “Let’s
find a way to come together, and close the Olson & Anderson deal, and then
we can move onto more important things—like celebrating.”

She
touched his hand with her vampiress claws.  She had sucked him dry so many
times, and he had never even realized it, or if he did realize it, he went
along with it because it was easy and automatic.  But the outcome was always
the same—nothing remained except superficial emotions and an executed business
deal.

Miles
remembered Maribel.  He felt the shopping bag, burning in his left hand.  He
suddenly relaxed and set it on the island’s quartz countertop.

Gillian
gazed at him, noting the change.  Then, her eyes fell down upon the sleek
shopping bag—with its department store logo and “
Fine Jewelry
”
tagline. 

“Brax,
I’m speechless. You shouldn’t have.”

“I
didn’t” he said, sliding the bag away from her grasp.  His sweeping broad arm
forced Gillian to step backwards and she faltered on the heel of her stiletto. 
It was his first gesture of confrontation.  Her hazel eyes flashed at him.  The
game had changed.  And they both knew it.

“Ahhhh,
I see… you haven’t been avoiding me.  You’ve just been busy conquering new
lands and pillaging their women.”

He
narrowed his eyes at her. 
Juvenile and crude
. 
It was how their exchanges had always been, but now, he faulted her for failing
to realize he wanted something better from her—and from himself.

“Well,
since my phone call to Gary and my message to your assistant all have been lost
in translation, let me put this in a way that everyone can understand,” Gillian
paced back to her purse and pulled out a contract.

“What
assistant?” Miles suddenly asked.

“Your
cupcake,” she countered with a flick of her teeth.  “It’s a bit tacky having
her answer your personal line, by the way.  Wouldn’t make a habit out of
that.”  Gillian slapped the contract down onto the island. 

“This
is a contract with Harvey Zale,” Miles said, surprised.  He quickly thumbed to
its final page to see if it had been executed. 
No signatures—yet
,
Miles noted,
which meant it could all be for show, or it could be the official
final draft—ready for execution
.

“You
sound genuinely shocked,” Gillian replied. “I gave you fair warning.  I’m not
that
cruel.  But clearly, your cupcake is horrible at relaying urgent messages.  Looks
like you need to hire better help.”

“Have
they verbally agreed to these terms?” Miles paged through the contract,
skimming the numbers and calculating the lease escalations, cost per square
foot, rental expenses, and subsequent profit margins in his head.

“I
spoke to Harvey yesterday.  He wants my clients in his Amory building—and he’s
very motivated to do a deal.  By the way, he told me to wish you a Happy
Valentine’s Day.”

Miles
gauged her eyes.  It was impossible to parse out the lies from the truth from a
woman who was rarely ever honest.  Harvey Zale was Miles’ biggest competitor,
and he did know that Zale would love nothing more than to steal the Olson &
Anderson deal away from him.  Suddenly, the sense of loss and failure seeped
into Miles’ competitive blood like a mood-altering drug.  He was fine with
losing the deal.  But he wasn’t fine with losing it to a double-crossing,
client-stealing leech of a building owner like Harvey Zale.  And clearly,
Gillian knew it.

“I
suppose that I could call my clients and ask if they would like to give you one
last try to make it up to them.  We’re old friends, Brax, after all.  And I’d
hate for there to be bad blood between us. The last thing I want is to disrupt
our current arrangement.”

Their current
arrangement
. 

Gillian
and Miles had an understanding: she would always bring him her best clients
first before shopping them to his competition.  Now, only one thing was
clear—that arrangement was in jeopardy.  Miles could do the deal that Gillian
wanted for her clients; he’d just lose out on a few million per year along with
a chunk of his pride.  But he’d make up for it on all the other potential
tenants she would bring him.  Miles peered down at the contract and flinched
his jaw. Miles hated to lose, but he hated being cornered even more. 

Gillian
edged closer to touch his cheek with her fingernails before slowly pushing
against his body like a pampered cat.  She was tall and slender, and her red lips
met his own without effort or initiation.  It was an empty shallow kiss.  She
leaned into him, closer, and attempted to slip her tongue into his mouth.  The bitterness
of nicotine and ash marred the sweet taste of Maribel that Miles had been
savoring all morning.  He was not the kind of man to shove away a woman—even
Gillian—but he no longer felt the need to placate her.  Abruptly, he brushed
her aside in a way that surprised them both.  She peered directly at him,
expecting an explanation.  There was only callousness in his eyes.

 “Do
the deal with Harvey,” Miles finally said, his tone simmering with anger as he shoved
the contract across the island to call her bluff.  “I’m not interested in jumping
in front of that train wreck.”

 “Oh,
Brax,” Gillian forced a nervous laugh, as if she recognized the rage in his
eyes.  “You’re always so dramatic about these things.” She attempted to spark a
friendlier mood, but it was in vein.  He was done with her games and he was
done with her.

“If
you’re looking to fleece someone, then it looks like you’ve found your match.  Good
luck getting good customer service from Harvey Zale.  Now, get the hell out of
my apartment and leave the elevator access card behind on your way out.”

Gillian
glared at him, her weight shifted onto one heel.  She gathered up her purse,
rifled through it, and tossed a gold-toned card onto the island.  Then, she
slid the contract into her hands and glared at Miles with one final challenge.

“You’ll
regret this Brax.  I’ll personally make sure of it.”

“Maybe,”
he shrugged, certain she would make good on her promise. “But you’ll find that
Harvey Zale’s a lot rougher and dirtier in bed.”

Gillian
smirked with artificial amusement.  Then, she swaggered into the open elevator
and pressed the call buttons with a
click, click, click
of her fingernails. Miles did not look back.  Instead, he waited and listened
for the floor chimes to signal that he was shutting her out of his life for
good.

Juvenile and crude
. 
It was always the same.  That’s what Gillian inspired in him, and that’s what
his materialistic world—a world of narcissistic negotiations and vengeful
power-plays—expected from him.  Money and power.  Domination and control.  Conceit
and ego.  Moral corruption and bitter emptiness.

 
Miles picked up the gold-toned
access key card and peered at it.  Then, he glanced at his watch.  He would
have to wait patiently for another three hours before he would have the chance
to see Maribel again.  And then, he wanted nothing more than to put everything
out of his mind, and himself and the promise of joy in his life.

Chapter Nine

Maribel
didn’t mean to end up in the lingerie section of the department store during
her lunch break.  She drifted there unintentionally when she was wandering through
the aisles, wondering about whether or not she was going to see Miles tonight. 
Was she prepared to spend the night with him—in his bed?
  Maribel wasn’t
certain.  One moment, she trembled with excitement and anticipation.  The next
moment, she worried that everything was moving too fast, and perhaps it would
be wiser, simpler, more sensible to return to her apartment to let things cool
off.  She didn’t even have any extra clothes with her, and now, she realized
her black nylons were snagged along the ankle.  The realization forced her to
the hosiery rack where she passed through the lingerie and skimmed over the
matching bra and panty sets that she never considered buying for herself—until
now.

Maribel
had never worn underwear in any color other than black and white.  She always
noticed and admired the other colors, especially the sensual violets, coral
pinks, and crisp fuchsia bras and panties.  But for Maribel, shopping for
lingerie no man would ever see wasn’t fun—it was discouraging.  She generally
avoided the whole section except when she was asked by Thomas to fill-in for Crystal. 
Now, as Maribel lifted up a packet of black nylons, her eyes flowed across the
colorful collection of revealing silk chemises, leopard-print push-up bras, and
French-cut panties.  Her eyes settled on a siren red strapless corset and
matching garter thong.  She never thought she would ever have the desire or confidence
to wear something
that
risqué in front of anyone—not even her own
reflection.  Today, however, was different.  Today, she imagined herself in
each alluring color combination, submitting herself to Miles’ strong hands and
dominating embrace within his own bed.

“Oh
my God, oh my God—”

Maribel
turned and frowned at the interruption. Thomas was coming straight at her.

“Guess
who just ordered one of every women’s apparel item in size 6 and 8!”

Maribel
could barely comprehend Thomas’ words.  She only felt the grip of his hand,
squeezing the hard metal of her diamond tennis bracelet into her wrist.

“Miles
Braxton-Worth!” Thomas jumped up and down like he was the winning contestant of
a game show. “Crystal is over there, right now, trying to sort through her
notes from his phone call—if she doesn’t hyperventilate first.  He wants everything
in all the major designer brands: tops, tanks, sweaters, pants, jeans, jackets,
dresses, skirts, mini-skirts, mini-mini-skirts,” Thomas nudged Maribel and
winked. “Whoever his lady friend is, she sure better realize the coin he’s
dropping for her.” Thomas suddenly shifted his eyes down onto the packet of nylons
in Maribel’s hands. “Shopping during your lunch break?”

 “Snag,”
she confirmed.

“Bummer,”
he empathized.  “Anyway, Crystal sent me over here to find a pajama set.  Would
you believe it?  Miles Braxton-Worth wants a pair of old-fashioned fleece
pajamas. Rosebud print, of all things.  Maybe they don’t even do anything
naughty.  Maybe they sleep in separate beds and eat pancakes together in the
morning?”

Maribel
smiled. 
Fleece pajamas
.  Her shoulders suddenly relaxed, releasing all
the tension of imagining what more Miles expected from her tonight. 
Maybe
he didn’t expect anything more…maybe he simply expected more of what she had
already given him
.  

“My
Lord, how should I know which ones to buy,” Thomas groaned, shifting listlessly
through a rack of fleece and flannel pajamas. 

“Here,”
Maribel offered, lifting up a white set with small pink roses from the rack. 

“Are
those
rosebuds?” Thomas eyed them, unconvinced.

“I’m
sure they’ll be fine. Plus they’re sized as small, medium, and large, so you
don’t even need to get two different sizes.”

“Better
get both a small and medium—just to be safe.  The last thing I want is to be the
one who screws up on the pajama fetish request from our building owner.”

“Yes,
you’d definitely don’t want to go down in sales history for that,” Maribel
sassed.

“Fo’,
sho,’” Thomas confirmed with a snap, then ran away towards the shoe department.
“Roberta, Roberta, I need six pairs of black leather boots and dress flats,
pronto!”

Maribel
watched Thomas race across the Grand Lobby. 
Pancakes—pancakes and sticky
syrup
.  That sounded just perfect.  A warm sensation of comfort washed over
her heart.  The sensation of excitement and anticipation returned as she
pondered spending the night at Miles’ apartment.  There was a flurry of activity
in the women’s apparel department.  In contrast, the lingerie section was empty
and quiet.  Maribel eyed the siren red corset and thong set.  Motivated by a
burst of spontaneity and self-confidence, she swiped it off the rack and
slipped into the changing rooms.  She picked a dressing room farthest from the
entrance, closed the door, and undressed quickly without looking at her body in
the mirror.  Maribel had always been self-conscious about her body.  She was
petite, but curvy. 
Too curvy
, she often thought.  Miles had judged her
size accurately—she was normally a size 8—courtesy of her round thighs, short
torso, and full chest.  With the help of the right underwire bras, halter tops,
and nylons, Maribel knew she could pack it all in and end up squeezing into a
size 6.  Compact and shapely.  She had long since accepted her body. 
That’s
what your late-twenties are all about
, Maribel thought as she wiggled into
the red garter thongs and fastened herself into the red corset bra. 
But had
she accepted her body—bare and buff—without the help of tummy-hugging panty
hose and thigh-smoothing skirts?
  Maribel wasn’t sure, especially now as
the three-way mirror revealed every angle of her tummy and every fat dimple on
her thighs.

“Wowzers…”

Startled,
she whipped towards the voice.  Miles’ mischievous blue eyes gazed over the
door and into the dressing room. 

“Is
that a gift for me?” he said, tugging on the lock.

“What
are you doing here?” Maribel’s pulse raced with horror.

“I’m
stalking you, of course.  And waiting for you to change into that…”

“It
was supposed to be a surprise.” Maribel whisked up her skirt—a feeble attempt
to cover her bare legs and backside from his view.

“It
worked.  I’m surprised.  Now, open this door, and don’t even think about
getting dressed.”

Their
eyes locked.  His blue eyes seared into Maribel.  They made her want to trust
him—even when she had doubts and fears about his intentions and the
consequences.  Maribel obeyed, opened the door, and allowed Miles to slip
inside the dressing room and seize her without restraint.

“We
can’t, not here.”

Miles
swept his tongue into her ear and down her neck. 

“Shhhh…
I’ve got the entire department store working on putting together a full
wardrobe for you.  They’ll be busy until close.  And there’s no possible way I
can control myself when you’re wearing that.”

He
peered down at her, taking in every angle and curve she had just cursed and
scorned.

“Miles,
you don’t need to buy me every women’s apparel item.  And really, truly, we
can’t do this.  Not here, not now.”

“What
you don’t need is an excuse not to come to my apartment tonight.”

Maribel
pulled away from his hands, trying to resist him.  But it was impossible.  He
looked powerful and sophisticated in his tan sharkskin designer suit, white shirt,
and glacial blue tie.  And he smelled amazing—fresh from a shower, the scent of
aftershave still lingering on his smooth jaw and chin.  The force of his
masculine body and commanding embrace overwhelmed her.

“God,
you look so hot and taste so amazing.” He gazed down at her exposed
cleavage—accentuated by the red strapless corset—and swiped his tongue over
their buxom arcs. 

“Miles…”
It was her final protest before she wilted with an exhale.  He was indulging
in  her weakness—the sensation of his hot mouth sucking deeply on the tender
nape of her neck.  He had discovered it last night, and now, he sucked harder
and harder while running his firm hands over her bare thighs, groping her
backside and tugging on her red thong with a teasing snap.  He fed on her, deeper,
lowering his lips along her collar bone and dropping his chin between the firm curves
of her breasts.  He dipped into the bra cups and searched out her nipples,
alternating between flicks and sucks.  Maribel’s whole body tingled.  She glanced
at their reflection in the three-way mirror.  He was handsome and debonaire in
his suit and tie.  She was sexy and provocative in her red corset and garter thong. 
He followed her gaze.  They both watched in the mirror as his fingers nudged past
the flimsy silk protection of the thongs and invaded her, forcing her to gasp
with the sudden release of pleasure and protest.

“No,
we can’t…”

“Yes,
we can…”

Slowly,
he lowered himself to his knees and wrapped his hands around her backside. 

“We
shouldn’t,” she whispered, steadying her hands on his shoulders and peering
down at his lips, circling his hot breath over the thin silk crotch of her thong.

She
gazed back at their reflection, and watched as Miles’ tongue slipped past the
silk thong and between her legs.  Maribel exhaled and closed her eyes, relaxing
her knees and thighs wider, granting him access. 
Was she really doing
this?  Was she really going to let him taste her… here and now?
  Maribel
had always been so proper and restrained.  She had barely managed to have
regular sex once a year, much less have
this kind of sex
in a private
corner of a public place
.  Her work place
, she heaved, as the tip of his
tongue flicked over her clit.  Maribel’s head dropped backwards; she released a
soft moan that encouraged him to stimulate her more with the velvet strokes of
his tongue. 
Naughty and disgraceful.  Dirty and taboo
.  She finally
found the courage to open her eyes, settling them into the mirror—her knee was propped
over his shoulder, his face was buried between her legs, his firm grasp encircled
her buttocks, locking her in place.  
How would she ever be able to face him
afterwards?  She didn’t know and she didn’t care
.  The sensation of his
tongue stimulated her deeper and deeper.  She pressed on his head and nudged him
for more, watching in a euphoric daze as he sucked her off while genuflecting in
his designer suit, as if it was she who was dominating him. 

You
make me want to let go of everything
, her eyes petitioned
him.

He
held her gaze.
  And you make me want to have every part of you.

He
pushed up her knee higher and fingered her deeply before delving back into her
with his tongue and hot breath.  Maribel gushed for him, unable to believe the
way she wanted him—
needed him
—to suck her dry.  Just when she thought
she could bear no more, his steady hand rose up and stripped down her corset
below her cleavage, exposing her full breasts and maroon nipples.  His fingers
pierced her tits, one at a time, with unforgiving force.  The prick of pain
eased the swelling desire between her legs.  In response, she slipped his
fingers into her mouth and sucked them the way he had returned to sucking her. 

Come
inside me,
Maribel whispered down to him, as if she was
granting him permission to dominate her without restraint.

 Miles
rose from his knees, swept up her leg into the crux of his arms, and pinned her
against the mirror.  The cool surface of the glass stung against her thighs and
she watched him unzip his fly and settle his firm cock between her legs.  With
her corset torn down below her tits and her thongs stripped down along her
ankles, she felt dirty and disheveled—at his complete mercy—as he manhandled
her like a possession.  He anticipated the moment they both knew they wanted—but
he was making her wait for it.  Slowly, he passed his strong hands over her exposed
backside and led her gaze to their reflection.  They both watched as his index
finger slipped between her cheeks and probed her most tender spot.  Maribel’s mouth
opened with a silent gasp.  She had never let anyone stimulate her there
before, and she sank deeper into his caresses, full tender strokes that
massaged her with caution. 
God, how he owned her, daring to seduce her like
a sexual goddess, not just a mortal woman
.
 
She felt the hot tip of
his cock, teasing her slit, priming her for something deeper.  Every illicit
touch of stimulation made her ache for him to come inside.  She wrapped her
arms around his muscular shoulders and whispered for him to take her now—and
take her completely.

 Miles
rested his forehead against her heart, like he had been suffering with yearning—awaiting
the moment of her ultimate surrender—before pushing himself inside with one searing
thrust.  They both exhaled in unison, like they were breaking through a
barrier, fighting for air. The friction.  The pressure.  The penetration of his
hard erection.  Maribel could do nothing else but relinquish herself to him.  Miles
streaked her bare ass against the cool reflective glass, and thrust upwards again—kindling
a burning sensation of ecstasy deep within her.  It started low in her G-spot,
then rose up through her pelvis with a trembling quake.  She was climaxing, climaxing
in a way that she had never experiencing before.  She felt the rush of blood to
her head, a flush sweeping over her face and neck.  Gyrations—steady and
unyielding—coursed through her entire body as he rode her hard like a saucy, naughty,
thong-wearing vixen who she barely knew or recognized.  The force of his
penetrations shuttered into one orgasmic spasm that released all of Maribel’s tension
and inhibitions, including every criticism and fault she had ever harbored
about herself.